maidservant in Horany, of Horany
“I am a widow and a maidservant, though my hands are raw and my legs too swollen to stand at the wash. I only want a bit of peace to remember my Humphrey.”
Things Joan had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
The priest says if I do not bring four groschen by Sunday, he will read my name from the pulpit as a debtor. I have no silver. The master docks my wages because I must sit on the bench. Holy Mary, I cannot bear the shame of it.
Nota scribaeDictated through tears. She ruined a good piece of parchment with her weeping.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at None
My legs ache so badly I cannot walk to the meadow where my Humphrey courted me. I only need five marigolds from that spot for his grave. I have the wooden heart he carved me right here in my apron. I pray a passing soul might fetch them.
I know how it feels to hold onto a thing from the dead. I still cannot find my mother's hairpin.
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
Young Gilbert has brought a stray dog into the yard. It barks and ruins the quiet. I clutch Humphrey's wooden heart in my pocket when it gets too loud, but the beast will not settle. The yard is no place for it.
Amiable is a good hound, he just wants to play with the chickens.
He ate three of my hens! I want my eight groschen for the birds!
the Friday after St Gregory, at Prime
Old Havel looks so tired at the chopping block today. I pray the Virgin Mary grants him an easier passing than my Humphrey had. The fever took my husband in two days, and now I am left entirely alone.
I am not dead yet, Joan. Keep your prayers for the young.
Nota scribaeShe stopped to wring her apron for a full turn of the hourglass.
Candlemas, at Sext
The master shouted me off my pallet this morning to boil the laundry. The yard is so cold without Humphrey's steady swing at the wood. I tried to sweep, but my will gave out by midday. Now I am back on the bench.
The wood does not chop itself, and the dirt does not sweep itself.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If you stood up from that bench and scrubbed the pots, you would have your wages, woman.
And I would not have to do your share of the wash.